


Winter and Glasses Don't Mix

by deansmultitudes



Series: Coldest Days in the World [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bus, Castiel Wears Glasses (Supernatural), First Meetings, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Meet-Cute, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:21:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21640855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deansmultitudes/pseuds/deansmultitudes
Summary: Winter and glasses don't mix. Cas learns that lesson very quickly. Winter, glasses and the warmth inside a crowded bus? Well, that's just a recipe for a disaster—or a meet-cute.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Coldest Days in the World [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560007
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Winter and Glasses Don't Mix

**Author's Note:**

> Republished from the _coldest days in the world_ drabble collection, now in a series.
> 
> OG A/N: Sooo I wrote an AU, apparently. This isn't a "New Year, New Me" situation. This is an "I don't know what I'm doing" situation. Don't call an exorcist.

Winter and glasses don’t mix. Unfortunately, it seems no one informed Cas’s ophthalmologist about it and she remains convinced that glasses and winter do, in fact, mix. More than that, in Cas’s case, they have to—unless he wants his sight to degrade even further than it already has due to two decades of neglect.

And so there he is now, freezing his cheeks off on the steel frames. He should have listened to Anna when she recommended the thick, plastic ones. They just didn’t seem very practical at the time, and now that’s just another regret.

At least, it stopped snowing.

The bright side of wearing glasses, of course—winter or not—is that Cas can now read the bus timetable without having to, figuratively, press his nose to it. He can even see the number of the incoming bus from the very crossroads and consequently spare himself the guessing and getting to the door last.

He really should have gotten glasses sooner.

Cas gathers his bags off the bench and moves towards the middle entrance. As soon as the door opens he steps into the warmth of the crowded vehicle. The puff of heated air envelops his face and—

The world goes white.

All of it.

Well, almost all of it; there are still colors and movement on the periphery of his vision. The entire center field is obscured by dense, white fog.

He stops in his tracks, shifts all heavy bags into one hand to free the other but the incoming passengers keep pushing him forward. Blinded, he attempts to move toward the rear end of the bus without stumbling. There’s too much hustle to try wiping the steam off the glasses now; with half a dozen shoulders pressing on him from all sides, he can’t even lift the freed hand.

The jam loosens, slightly, when the doors close and Cas manages to find a little safe footing. He reaches to the glasses but the tips of his fingers can barely brush the frames when the bus starts and the yank sends Cas tumbling forward.

He shoots his free hand up in a futile attempt to grab a strap and collides into someone’s chest. A strong scent of cologne fills him up as his nose sinks into the man’s collar. An arm wraps around Cas on instinct. The man stills them both easily.

“Got you,” a low voice purrs above his ear.

A hot blush creeps up Cas’s cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, trying to pull away.

The steam covering his glasses begins to recede around the edges, but still not enough to make out the face in front of him.

“S’fine,” the man says, loosening his hold, but doesn’t let go entirely until Cas finds the strap over his head. “Let me help ya, buddy.”

He gently pulls the glasses off Cas’s nose before Cas can protest. He starts wiping them with a handkerchief in his other hand, elbow locked around a pole. His eyes are trained on his own working fingers, the corners of his lips are raised in a tiny smirk. He must be around Cas’s age, maybe a couple years younger, and—Dear God, even without the glasses Cas can tell he’s beautiful.

With a cheerful “There you go,” the man puts the clear glasses back on Cas’s nose and the face, the beautiful, bright face comes into focus. Three days’ stubble surrounding his pink lips that got a little chapped from cold, the slight crook in the middle of his nose, like it got broken at some point and never mended right, the first marks of crow’s feet around his eyes that somehow only make him look younger.

And freckles. So many golden freckles splattered all over his face. Probably as many as Cas could count stars in the night sky over the town.

Cas’s eyes grow wide and he can’t take them off the man’s face. Seconds pass and he’s acutely aware he’s staring, but there’s nothing he can do about it while he’s putting all of his will into keeping his mouth closed.

“What? Did I leave a smudge?” the man asks, at last, eyebrows knitted, smirk still playing on his lips.

“No, it’s perfect,” Cas replies quickly. Embarrassment succeeds at forcing him to look away. “Thank you.”

He wishes he could turn around, but his bags trapped between other passengers’ legs make it impossible. So he stands as he was, fixing his eyes on the zipper of the man’s jacket. He forbids himself to ever lift them any higher, even when the guy doesn’t look at him.

But the guy doesn’t take his eyes off him, anyway.

“These seem like a hazard,” he says and Cas has no choice but to look up at him, confused. “Glasses,” he clarifies.

“Yes, apparently, they are,” Cas replies, then the silence between them falls again. It doesn’t feel right, like maybe Cas should add something more. So he does. “It’s the first day I have them,” he explains, “well, a second day to be precise, but the first time outside.”

“Good timing,” the man cuts off his rambling, with a grin that subdues at once and he clears his throat and glances away.

The change is striking. The man has been nothing but self-confidence so far. Now he seems…shy.

Cas tilts his head to the side, unsure what to say or what he meant by “good timing.” He goes with the safest interpretation.

“Yeah, the doctor said I’ve really ruined my sight—” he begins, but is interrupted, again, before sharing his entire life story.

“No, that’s not what I—I meant—” The man pauses. A tip of his tongue slips out to slide along his lower lip. Before Cas can warn him not to lick his lips when it’s this cold out, the man leans down and in a hushed tone Cas can barely hear among the white noise, he says, “They look great on you.”

“Oh,” is all Cas manages to say.

Those must be the last words he expected to hear from a complete stranger he’s just smashed into. Let alone one as handsome as the man. Cas casts his eyes down, heat’s back in his cheeks, and he can only hope he’s not too red to be unable to wave it off as an effect of the temperature fluctuations.

“That’s good to know,” Cas adds, at last, and smiles to give himself more courage for the next words. “I’m Cas.”

“Cas?” the man repeats to make sure. “Dean.” He nods in lieu of a handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Dean,” Cas mutters a little awkwardly, but he’s not sure Dean heard, with his attention shifted to the window.

The bus begins to pull over when Dean’s eyes return to his. Cas knows what it means and he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t know why, though, whether it’s the smile or all the freckles, or Dean’s friendliness but Cas doesn’t want to lose sight of him. Should he ask for the number? Wouldn’t that be too forward? How about Facebook—is that what people do?

Cas doesn’t end up asking for either; as soon as the bus comes to a halt, the swarm of people starts rolling towards the exits, pushing past them.

“Sorry, it’s been nice but I’m hopping out here,” Dean tells Cas before letting the crowd pull him to the back door.

Cas nods and watches Dean’s back move away. He gives out a sigh. _ So much for that acquaintance, _ he thinks, looking for a seat. The bus is suddenly nearly empty now and the doors wait open for the incoming passengers to spill in.

“Hey, Cas!” a voice calls from the back.

Cas’s head shoots up. Dean’s face is peeking in from behind the door wing.

“See you around, yeah?” Dean asks.

Cas can’t hold back a beam. “See you around!”

**Author's Note:**

> Find this fic on [tumblr](http://babybluecas.tumblr.com/post/155689388194/deancas-au-13k-winter-and-glasses-dont-mix)


End file.
